


New Girl

by marsymanv



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - New Girl, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben is a grumpy conservative, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, He is also a movie snob, M/M, Or a Punch, Rey loves Legally Blonde, Romantic Comedy, Roommates, Sexual Tension, The New Girl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:02:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22773829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marsymanv/pseuds/marsymanv
Summary: This fic is inspired by the show "New Girl" (no need to have seen it to read this).____Rey is an eccentric elementary school teacher who just can't get over her break-up. She also can't crash with Paige and her model friends anymore, and so she decides to move into a loft apartment with three single men. It's perfectly reasonable, thank you very much.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Soooo yeah, this is my first ever Reylo fic. I actually never thought I'd write it, but the idea was too hilarious and wouldn't leave me alone. And so here we are. Look at us. Who would've thought? Not me. 
> 
> Really hope you guys will like it! The first chapter is pretty short, I just sort of wanted to test the waters before diving in. Let me know if you'd like to see more!

Be adventurous, they said. Take a chance, they said. Live a little —

“Oh my God. Why is it so cold? Hey, can you close that window please?” Rey asks the taxi driver, “Yes, thank you. Oh my _God_.”

“Rey, sweetie, calm down,” comes a reassuring voice from the old iPhone 5S she has been stubbornly refusing to replace for many years now. It is covered in shiny rhinestones and dog stickers, “You’re basically every nerd’s dream right now. Tits up, girl, you’ve got it.”

“You’d need a bloody Dora the Explorer to find my tits in this ridiculous costume,” Rey huffs. She catches the driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. _Oh my God_.

Rose snorts, “Well, thankfully, Dan’s got the Map.”

“You know you could’ve just said “ _Oh, Rey, would you stop being so critical? Your tits are perfect._ ”

“If you wanted a lie, you should’ve called Finn.”

“Oh God, I am actually doing this,” Rey is in the proper panic mode now, two ‘ _oh Gods_ ’ away from hyperventilation, “I’m half-naked in a taxi, driving to surprise my boyfriend on his birthday.” Rey stills as the words leave her mouth. She looks thoughtful for a second. Then mildly excited. “Yes, I am a dangerous, sexy vixen, exploring her sexuality," she can almost hear Rose roll her eyes through the phone, "Or am I a hooker? A courtesan with a heart of gold who has to work her way through college. Maybe I don't enjoy this life, maybe I do — it's not like I have a choice. I have to keep going if I want to get a degree. It's a vicious world out there — oh, we’re here.”

“Thank God.” Rose sighs.

Rey can see Dan’s house from the window, his blue mini cooper parked in the driveway. A new wave of panic washes over her. She gulps.

“I’m gonna go now. Call you later?”

“You’d better. Good luck, _Your Highness_.”

Rey rolls her eyes at the last remark and hangs up. She should’ve called Finn. He would’ve given her a reassuring pep talk and a lecture about the importance of embracing one’s sexuality. _You gotta be more confident, girl,_ he'd have said, _If you believe you're a queen, people will catch on._

Rey pays the taxi driver (while pointedly ignoring his very curious glances at her chest) and gets out of the car, all in a hurry before her brain catches on. Yes, it appears she’s actually doing this.

With a determined look at the nice one-story white-fenced house, Rey tightens the belt on her beige trench coat and opens the door. She helped Dan paint it when she moved in with him. Actually, no — she _asked_ Dan to let her paint it over and over again until he finally gave in. Theirs was the only canary yellow door with tiny pugs in the whole neighborhood.

The house is quiet when Rey walks in. Usually Dan is in the living room playing video games, but it’s empty now, no traces of bowls of unfinished cereal on the coffee table. Rey’s lips stretch into a wide, mischievous smile.

She plays with the belt and moves around the living room, an awkward swing to her hips — she has to get into character. Rey leans on the wall striking what she thinks is a sexy pose. No, that won't do. It's too weird. _Don't be weird._

She clears her throat, “Daniel? Is there a Mister Daniel Peterson living in this abode?” she calls in a breathy voice with a strange accent she would imagine a space princess having. There is a shuffling coming from the master bedroom. _Good_ , he’s finally awake.

“Ah, Mister Peterson,” Rey breathes out at the sight of her boyfriend. He is staring at her with wide eyes, “The Galaxy is in grave danger, my lord. You’re the only one who can save us,” she pouts and bats her lashes, hands reaching to the belt, “I’ll do anything you ask, my lord. _Anything_. Just please,” Rey begs, and her trench coat lands on the ground. Dan’s mouth falls open, “ _please_ help me.”

She’s wearing nothing but a metallic bikini underneath. It does very little to cover her body, reveling every curve and corner, and Rey reminds herself to thank Paige for taking her to that Ukrainian waxing place.

“R-Rey...”

“Danny,” a female voice calls from the bedroom. Rey is pretty sure it doesn’t belong to her, “where did yo — oh.”

There is a woman next to her boyfriend. Rey wants to give Dan the benefit of the doubt: maybe, she’s a cleaning lady. Or one of those sect recruiters trying to worn them about the impending apocalypse. Or...or maybe she’s...

...wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt with the _Star Warcraft_ print on it. The one Rey gave Dan for Valentine’s Day last year.

_Oh my God._

* * *

Rey heaps a generous amount of Lucky Charms in the cereal bowl and pours a little milk on top of it.

Making cereal is a science. An _art_. One wrong move and they're too soggy or too crispy — you can't have that. No, one has to be precise: lots of cereal, half as much milk to go with it, which allows the bottom flakes to become reasonably soggy and the top layers to stay crispy. And then you just mix them, creating the perfect blend of both worlds.

Rey has perfected this recipe in the last months while crashing on Paige and Rose's couch. She had an audience sometimes. An audience of four staved models who watched her eat the sugary delight with wide, hungry eyes in complete silence, filled only by Rey's crunchy chewing.

Paige has been renting an apartment with a few of her model friends ever since she moved to LA seven years ago to pursue a career in acting. A couple of months and a dozen of failed auditions later, Paige accepted the fact that she couldn't act for shit. She did, however, " _have a really nice ass_ ", which was what her misogynistic asshole of an agent told her over some wine in his soulless condo. That is not to say that he was wrong. Paige really did have a nice ass and everything else to go with it, and so she quickly got into modeling, signing a contract with some huge agency.

"Good morning, Natasha," Rey greeted with a mouthful of cereal.

The Russian malnourished beauty quirked a perfectly plucked eyebrow, "You eat again?"

_Yeah, okay._

"Hey babe," Paige strolls into the living room fully clothed, a bright smile on her face. It isn't even 10 a.m yet.

"Why are you awake?" Rey asks her with a tinge of suspicion.

Paige grabs a banana from the fruit bowl on the kitchen island and plumps down on the couch next to her, "I've got a casting. Some body scrub or whatever," she bites into her breakfast, "You seen Rose?"

"She left for dance practice two hours ago," Rey says and puts another loaded spoonful of cereal in her mouth. Natasha is watching her from the kitchen sink where she's pouring herself a second glass of water. Rey gives her an awkward smile. A stream of milk trickles down her chin. _Great_. She wipes if off with the sleeve of her red wiener pajamas and continues eating, absolutely oblivious to the look on Paige's face.

"Rey honey," she calls sweetly.

"Hmh?"

"Don't you have work today?"

"The kids are on a field trip," Rey replies and goes through her phone. Three new messages from _Mommy Dearest_ , ten missed calls from _Finnigan the Peannigan_ , seven missed calls from _Daddio_. She locks it and puts it away.

"Do you have any plans?"

"Nah-uh."

Paige looks at Natasha and then at Rey again, "The girls and I are going out today. Wanna join us?"

"Out?" Rey's curiosity is slightly piqued, "Where?"

"You know, _clubbing_ ," Paige tells her, "Meeting new people. Having fun. _Living_."

Rey considers her options. She could make an effort and go out there, embrace what the world has to offer to a female right out of a three-year relationship. She could put on one of Paige's slutty dresses, do her make up…she gets exhausted even thinking about it. "Yeah, no, I'd rather stay in. Thanks though."

"Rey."

She knows that tone. The I-know-you're-hurting-and-I-don't-want-to give-you-a-hard-time-but-girl-you-gotta-stop-moping tone. Rey has been hearing it for the past month and has perfected the art of ignoring it.

"Rey, you've wasted three years on that fucking loser. Don't let the memory of him take another day of your life."

She knows Paige's right. Because Paige is rarely ever wrong, the wise, beautiful goddess that she is, and because despite being in denial, Rey is not completely delusional.

Daniel was a first-class dickead, who didn't even look like he had the right to be one. A kosher dickhead, as per Finn's explanation, has got to have a proper ratio of dickness and hotness. Hot people are allowed to be dicks — but _only_ to the degree of their hotness. Should dickness overweigh their overall physical appeal, _get your fine ass out the door_.

Daniel's ratio was pretty much fucked up, but Rey stayed blind to it for three years. Because Daniel loved dogs, because Daniel understood her cereal preferences and never judged her for them, because Daniel loved video games and hated the same movie remakes she did — because Daniel and Rey were basically the same person. Except Rey would never fuck a sect recruiter in their bed while Daniel was trying to surprise her in a costume from her teenage wet dreams.

"I know," she groans out and puts the bowl of cereal away, "I know, it's just hard. Being with a person for three years and then just…not be with them."

"You're stuck in a dating limbo, babe," Paige finishes her banana and throws the peel on the coffee table. _Who cleans this place?_ "There's only two ways to go, and we will die before we let you go back to that frat house. You know you can crash with us as long as you want, but you gotta move forward at some point."

Rey looks at her with narrowed eye, "You know, it's so irritating how you're hot _and_ smart. I almost legitimately hate you for that."

"Well, you know what they say," Paige lets out a dramatic sigh and stands up, towering over the couch in her high heels, "Love, hate, thin line and whatever."

"It's been crossed," Rey deadpans.

"Drinks. Tonight. Our spot," Paige puts on a cropped leather jacket and pulls her thick long hair into a high ponytail, "Be there at 10."

Rey reaches for her cereal again, "I'll think about it."

"Less thinking, more action, Andor."

"Don't you have to leave already?"

"Aren't you gonna wish me luck?"

"You don't need like with those boobs."

Paige considers it, "Yeah, you're right. Alright, bye! See you at 10," she says and storms out of their crammed three-bedroom apartment. Only Paige Tico can run in heels looking like a graceful gazelle.

Rey, marginally less graceful, lets out a martyred sigh and returns to her breakfast. But it has already turned into a pile of mush.

_Too soggy_.


	2. TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so so much for all the kudos and comments!   
> I think I have to clear something up and say that this is a multi-chapter fic. It's not a one-shot, I repeat IT IS NOT A ONE-SHOT  
> Rey and Ben's bickering is going to stretch for at least 20 chapters, so buckle up.   
> Also, I've decided to use real convo screenshots. Let me know if you guys like it!   
> Forgive me for any mistakes, guys. It's 3 in the morning and I don't have a fairy godmother aka beta

Rey has never had trouble being alone. Even as a child she would always find something to do, absorbed in the made-up world of books and drawings, and magic. Unsatisfied with the joyless reality of her foster homes, Rey came up with one of her own — she wrote silly short stories and illustrated them in her little notebook — a gift from one of the families she stayed with.

Only later, when Rey was adopted by a newly-married couple —Jyn and Cassian Andor — at the age of seven, did she realize that the world around her was bathed in a myriad of colors, and started to slowly but surely coming out of her imaginative bubble.

Rey was a very active child, a _firecracker_ her father always said. She wanted to do everything and be everywhere, signing up for nearly every extracurricular activity available at school and being the teachers' favorite and at the same time the most unbearable student in class.

Rey enjoyed being in the drama club most of all, because that's where she made her first true friends — Finn and Rose. Her undying love for acting, however, turned out to be unrequited. But it didn't stop Rey from playing a tree in the " _Peter Pan_ " play in sixth grade. She was performing the role with such enthusiasm and creativity that the director had no choice but to give her some lines. 

That is to say, as much as Rey cherishes her alone time, she hates the feeling of loneliness and idleness. Which is why now she is sitting on the couch, miserable, Taylor Swift's new documentary playing on the telly. Taylor inspires a momentous surge of productivity in Rey. For a minute she thinks that maybe she should get her ass up and go out. But then Rey really considers it and decides to stay put. She feels like she has betrayed Taylor Swift.

Her phone lights up with a new notification.

"Oh, for fuck's…"

Rey falls into the warm embrace of the throw pillows with an exhausted sigh. There is a story behind these pillows. Now, any normal person would never pay attention to the basic beige pillows that came with a kind of but not really new couch in this apartment. But Rey Andor, for better or worse, was not in any regard normal. Therefore, these pillows are sort of a sore spot for her, being yet another reminder of what she has lost.

Looking at them, sleeping on them, touching them, Rey can't help but think about the collection of pug-pillows she's left back at Daniel's in a hurry. She has been collecting those pillows for four years, sniffing out new pieces at LA's innumerable flee markets like a perfectly trained bloodhound.

Come to think of it, practically all of Rey's stuff is still at Daniel's house. The only things she took with her were those in the laundry basket. She took that, as well. _Of course_ she threw out all of Daniel's dirty clothes away (she didn't, she had them sent back to him. Freshly washed).

She got fucked, didn't she? Oh no, wait a second, it wasn't her either. She didn't even get _that_.

Feeling another wave of self-loathing creeping in, Rey raises her fluffy pajamas-clad ass off the couch and ventures on a journey to the kitchen — it's almost like going to Mordor, only it takes less than three movies and Rey returns to the couch with a bottle of white wine from the fridge. Say what you will about models, but what they lack in food they sure compensated for with booze.

One and a half glasses later, there is a finally a knock at the door. Rey opens it with a ready-filled glass of wine and unceremoniously pushes it into Finn's hand before returning to her perfect nest on the couch.

"O-kay," he drawls, mildly taken aback but not surprised, and comes in, closing the door behind him.

Not a light is on in the whole apartment. The only beacon seems to bet the old plasma TV in the living room, shining blue light on the worn out couch. And Rey with it. It looks like a setup for a very sad low-budget play in one of those vanguard theaters downtown.

"Here," Finn throws a pack of Doritos and some Reese's Pieces to her. They land on the pillows with a dull, anticlimactic sound.

Rey wastes no time in opening the package of the peanut deliciousness and bites into the soft cup, "So how was your audition?" She asks with a full mouth of chocolate. 

The way Finn guzzles down half the glass of wine before answering speaks for itself, "They said they'd get back to me, which we all know means that they're gonna hire a white straight guy and call it a day. They script was shit anyway," he huffs and helps himself to some more golden ambrosia.

Remember that thing about the school drama club? Yeah, while Rey was a tree and Rose a gracious doorknob, Finn played the part of Peter Pan, and did a stellar job at it. So much so that he continued to participate in the plays to come (Rey and Rose decided that they'd had enough) and later enrolled into USC to pursue a career in acting. Success is a fussy lady — a known fact — it's hard to find, easy to lose and is worth waiting for. At least that's what they, whoever _'they'_ are, say. As of the past three years, Finn's been stuck on the 'waiting' part of the whole "becoming famous" process. He did land a couple of commercials, though. But he doesn't like to talk about them.

"I'm sorry," Rey tells him, "For what it's worth, the script really _was_ shit. Proclaiming undying love after five days of foreplay?" She lets out an unladylike snort and takes a sip of wine, "It's, like, Tinder scamming 101. The space dudes should know better."

One _bottle_ of wine later and halfway to opening another one, Rey gets a message from Rose:

Of course Rey's got to google it. She learns many knew things.

"Hey, Finn," she calls from the couch, eyes scanning a weirdly detailed article about the art of getting " _discretely_ ".drunk

"Yeah?" he croaks out, face contorted with exertion as he's trying to open a bottle of wine at the kitchen island.

"Did you know you could get like super drunk super fast from inserting an alcohol-soaked tampon inside your vagina?"

"Sure, I do it all the time," he replies sarcastically. Finally, there's a loud pop —the cork has been successfully pulled out. Finn should really get a gym membership. Rey's been telling him that for months now, mostly because she should really start going to the gym herself but is too scared to do it alone.

"Apparently, it's a huge thing in Russia, and now everyone's doing it."

Finn returns with two refilled glasses and hands one to Rey, "Nah, I love the whole process of getting drunk," he says and sits down next to her, "There's something poetic about being in control of losing it."

Rey looks at him with disgust, "Stop it with your drama school shit, Shookspeared."

"You know what, it was brilliant," Finn reaches for his phone, "I should tweet it."

"Jesus, no one _cares_ ," Rey groans and dives her hand into a half-empty bag of Doritos, "You've literally 11 followers, five of which are Indian influences," she stuffs her mouth with a load of them.

Finn seems genuinely wounded, "Like _your_ twitter is so popular. All your followers are _dogs_."

"Duh, because I _post_ dogs."

Rey knows Finn tweeted anyway because she's received the notification. When her phone vibrates a second time, she's almost impressed by how fast he can type. Rey opens her mouth to say something witty about it…but instead she freezes.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Rey keeps staring at the screen, Daniel's face smiling at her from above the message convo. His stupid dimples, his stupid, unruly, soft curly hair —

"Hey!" she yells when Finn yanks the phone out of her hands.

" _Can we meet?_ " he reads the message and huffs, " _Hell no_ you can't!"

"Finn, give it back!"

Why the hell are his arms so damn long? Rey is a struggling mess, continuously falling back on the pillows in the quest to reach for the phone.

"Rey, you're not gonna meet with him, are you?" Finn asks her, no trace of mirth in his voice. Suddenly, both of them are very sober. Okay, a little _more_ sober.

"I…don't think so. I don't know," Rey murmurs.

"You need to move on. And you need to do it on your own terms," he says and hands her the phone, "That means you can't go running back every time he calls."

"Yeah," Rey is nodding, something brewing in her buzzed head, "Fuck him. Fuck Daniel".

"Fuck Daniel! Cheers," they clink glasses.

"You know what? This is just so typical of him. To just…just fucking message me one month later with a _demand_. "Rey, can we meet?", "Rey, can you bring me some beer?", "Rey, can you pay for the Internet? I have a raid today with the boys". _Rey, Rey, Rey,_ AHH —"

"Give me your phone for a sec."

Rey is too blinded by her fury to care, so she just tosses it to Finn. Wine glass in her tight grip, she's watching him type away, letting out an occasional evil laugh. "Yeah, buddy," Finn sniggers, "this is what you _get_ ," he presses " _send_ ".

"What'd you write?"

Finn hands her back the phone, looking exceptionally proud. Rey scans the message, her lips stretching into a wide smile, "This is _perfect_."

"I know. Now that we're on it, what else d'you need help with in your life? I'll sort it out." Finn's always become awfully confident when drunk.

"Oh!" Rey's eyes brighten up like the metaphorical lightbulb, " _Oh_! Yes! Yeah, totally," she jumps off the couch like an overhyper puppy and grabs something from the shelf in the living room. It's her shabby white MacBook that has survived way too many coconut latte spills, "So, okay, I've been looking up some apartments, right? Turns out I can't afford this shit on a teacher's salary," Rey opens the laptop and goes to the Google Chrome browser. Finn is surprised it works with so many tabs open. It's complete chaos, "So I found some room postings on craigslist. These are my top three."

Rey opens the first one and hands the laptop to Finn. He's very thorough with the examination, _too_ thorough forRey who has the patience of a five-year-old and keeps asking " _so what do you think?_ " every two minutes.

"The neighborhood's no good," Finn shakes his head and closes the tab to move on to the next posting. He carefully reads the description, scratching his chin in a very pensive manner, then goes through the pictures.

Rey leans in to take a peak, "Oh, it's pretty nice, isn't it?"

Finn hmm's and goes back to reread the description:

_A nice building in one of Los-Angeles's best districts. Extremely nice area, full of bagel shops and cafes where you can treat yourself to a peaceful breakfast (vegan-friendly). Nice shower with perfect water pressure, hot water. Our loft is looking over a sunny side and is always bathed in light. We have a nice lounge area where you can tan or just have a nice time reading a book._

_Four bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen and a big living room._

_Three loftmates looking for a clean, quiet, reliable (secure job=consistent rent) and petless tennant._

_If it's you, then don't hesitate to reply to this posting._

_Rent/month: 750$ (utilities not included)._

"Yeah, it does sound nice. And the rent is pretty low for the Art District."

"And I'm clean and reliable! _And_ petless, this can't be a coincidence. It's _perfect_." Rey reasons.

Finn raises a brow at her T-shirt that looks like an impressionist's painting.

Rey narrows her eyes at him, "I _do_ have a secure job,"

"Okay, so let's email them."

Rey's hazel eyes widen, "What, like, now?" 

"Why not? You said it yourself, it's perfect."

"Yeah, but…"

"Start anew, Rey," Finn says with the intensity of a useless but somehow convincing motivational speaker, "No more vodka-tampons and breakfast voyeurism."

Rey is biting her lip, brows furrowed in hesitation. She looks at Finn and then at the pictures, then back at Finn and at the pictures again. There is so much _light_ in this loft. And the kitchen look really nice, spacious…

"Alright, let's do it," she decides at last.

Finn opens her email box and starts composing a message when Rey takes over the laptop.

"I'll do it," she declares and starts to warm up her fingers before bringing them to the keyboard, "Dear…what do I call them?"

Finn shrugs, "Ladies?"

"Nah, that's too official."

She opts for " _Hello there"_ instead. 

_My name is Rey Andor, I'm 24. I think I fit your criteria rather well, being that I am a petless, very reliable and extremely clean person. I would love to become your loftmate._

_If you find me a suitable candidate, I'd be glad to meet up to discuss the details!_

_Xoxo, Rey_

She looks at Finn for a final blessing. He smiles and gives her an optimistic thumbs-up. With an excited squeal, Rey clicks on the little paper airplane.

* * *

Somewhere on 837 Traction Avenue, in apartment 4D, a phone lights up with a new notification. A man with red hair, who was peacefully reading a book on the sofa, tears his eyes away from a particularly intriguing paragraph and lets out a sigh of annoyance.

"Dameron, you got a message!" he yells, his loud voice echoing through the high ceilings of the empty loft. Ever since their last roommate, Mitaka, moved out a month ago, it's been awfully quiet. In fact, it's been so quiet that Armie Huxley has had nothing to complain about in weeks.

But it doesn't mean he hasn't been trying.

"Why do you always leave your phone in the living room?" he hisses when Poe finally emerges from his room after a long nap.

"Why are _you_ always in the living room?" Dameron retorts. Armie scowls at him and returns to the book, "Looks like we've got another interview," Poe announces after reading the email.

Armie flips the page, "Who is it this time?" he drones.

"Some Rey guy, 24. Here, check it out," Poe plumps on the couch, disturbing his friend's relaxing idyll. Armie glares at him and grabs the phone to scan the message.

" _Xoxo_?" he reads out with distaste, "Who does he think he is, _Gossip Girl_?"

Poe shrugs and yawns — he's barely had any sleep, "Can't be worse than the doll guy."

Armie considers it for a moment, "I guess he can come around tomorrow," he allows in a bored tone, "Tell him to be here at 10 and asks for me."

Poe silently obliges and types a quick reply:

_"Come by tomorrow at 10 a.m. Ask for Amie."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, alcohol-soaked tampons are a thing. I know some girls who did it, and it doesn't sound too pleasant


End file.
